


Do no harm

by Tashilover



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Past Abuse, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-28
Updated: 2013-01-28
Packaged: 2017-11-27 05:42:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/658588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tashilover/pseuds/Tashilover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joan Watson has no sins. At least not ones Sherlock could see.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do no harm

In his mind, there was a difference between surveillance and voyeurism. He did not set up the cameras in Watson's room to be a  _pervert_. He did it to protect himself, his interests and his work. There was no way in hell was he going to let some half-therapist destroy everything he worked so hard to achieve.

He made an effort to only watch the cameras when she was dressed. If she was in any other state or in the midst of grooming, he backed off. He'd usually waited till she was in bed to take down the cameras and look through its contents. What he found was rather... disappointing.

She liked to read. And that was about it.

There were a few other things she did privately in her room. She mouthed along to her favorite songs on her ipod and dancedd in place. She wrote in her journal of Sherlock's updates. (He read it and found it boring.) She also hid candy bars in her room and reached for one every morning when she got up.

Watson wasn't Sherlock's first 'companion'. There were others who tried to keep him on a straight path. First there was Fred, who spent most of his time masturbating to picture of goats. And then there was Allison, who was fired when Sherlock revealed she kept posting her clients' information on Facebook.

He expected something of a similar sin for Watson. Perhaps she was an addict herself or maybe she liked to murder animals. She seemed like the sort.

But all she did was read. Best sellers. Medical journals. Emails.

Really, it shouldn't have surprised Sherlock but it did. He was around so many people who lied straight to his face he'd forgotten what it was like to be near someone who was level headed, professional, and true. It came as quite a shock.

Instead of taking it as face value, Sherlock was suddenly obsessed with the idea of finding out one of Watson's sins. Nobody was that straight forward. Something had to be wrong with her.

So he broke his own rule and started watching the videos during her private moments.

He still maintained he wasn't a pervert.

Watson took great pains in her self-grooming, spending more time on her hair and make-up than she did writing in her updates. Her breasts were smaller than they looked, and she liked to spread perfume lotion in between her legs right after a shower.

Once again, nothing unique or odd came out to Sherlock. Except for one thing.

She had a scar on her shoulder. A small puckered burn scar the size of a quarter. Sherlock immediately recognized it for what it was: a cigar burn. Someone had purposely held down a lit cigar onto Watson's shoulder long enough for a second degree burn to take form.

Now that Sherlock had his answer, he wished he never found out. In respect, he erased the videos he had on Watson and removed the rest of the cameras from her room.

He always knew Watson scurried off once a week to meet up with that therapist of hers. He assumed the therapist was there to help her with death of her patient. Now he wondered if it was for something else. An abusive boyfriend? An overzealous sober client?

He didn't dare ask though the question gnawed at him. He invaded her privacy enough.

 

 

 

Of course, once Watson discovered the other cameras, there was no denying his crime.

"Fess up," she said calmly. Watson was rarely angry. When she scolded him it was always through a tone of irritation, like a mother sick and tired of her child's antics. Sherlock wondered what it would take for her to rant and rave. Clearly it was going to take more than invasion of privacy. "Did you put any of those cameras in my room?"

He could lie to her. He had already taken the cameras out of her room and had no idea he was watching her up until this point. It would be so easy.

Except he didn't want to lie to her anymore. She had a right to know the truth. "Yes."

He noted that her hands tightened. "Are they still there?"

"No, I took them out a long time ago."

"Why?"

"Because I didn't want to invade your privacy anymore."

Sherlock thought she would be offended, disgusted, violated like any other person would have. Instead, she considered his answer and frowned. "You saw something," she said after a minute of silence. "You're not one to give up so easily, what did you see?"

"Watson, it would probably be best if we-"

" _What_  did you  _see_?"

He sighed. "Your scar."

She didn't touch her shoulder but her eyes briefly glanced down to it. "What do you know?"

"It wasn't an accident. A scar like that is too neat. Someone did that to you. I wondered if it was a boyfriend or perhaps your dad. Though you may not have my skills, Watson, you're an observant enough person to recognize a possible abuser when you see one nor would you ever keep quiet of such a thing. So not a boyfriend. Not your dad, either, the wound is still too new. You didn't do it to yourself. No, that wound was caused by a complete stranger."

Watson stared at him.

She suddenly started giggling, half-hysterical and not at all reassuring. "My god," she said, swallowing thickly. "That's... incredible. How you're able to put all of that together just by looking at my scar. Amazing."

Despite himself, Sherlock felt pride from her compliments.

"So you do know, then?" She asked, touching her shoulder finally. "How I got this?"

"Not a hundred precent, no. You didn't file a police report."

"How do you know that?"

"You wouldn't be here. My father wouldn't have sent me someone who was so..."

"Damaged?"

Sherlock flinched. "I was going to say emotionally compromised."

Watson shrugged.

"But now I'm certain," Sherlock continued, uneasily. "I never hear women call themselves 'damaged' unless..."

He trailed off, biting his lip.

He expected a long of things to happen next. A million and ten scenarios ran through his head and he played each one, not wishing to make a mistake when talking. Sherlock may be callous in certain situations but he was not intentionally cruel. If Watson didn't want to speak about this, he would not push the subject.

"May I ask," he began carefully. "Why didn't you make a report?"

She could easily leave the conversation if she wanted. Nothing in his tone demanded an answer. He could live without one.

"I didn't see the point," she said. Sherlock leaned forward, now that Watson was ready to share. He wasn't about to let any of this information pass. "I could barely see his face or, his clothes and he used a condom. I didn't want to go through so much knowing the chances of actually catching this guy was slim."

"And... the scar?"

"He told me if I screamed he would kill me. He held his cigar against my shoulder for emphasis."

Hot anger slowly bubbled up in Sherlock's stomach. He could feel it go through his chest, threatening to overwhelm him and kill him. Though he was calm, Sherlock's his mind was filled of gory horrific ways to torture this man to death. "You know my abilities, Watson. If you're willing, I can help you find him and bring him to justice."

"No need," she said, almost proud. 'Almost' because something stopped her from going all out, deflating her glee the moment it came out of her mouth. "It was a mistake to smoke that cigar. Very unique brand, very unique smell."

He understood what she meant immediately. "You found him through the cigar smell? That's wonderful, Watson. I'm impressed, truly."

"Don't be. I killed him."

Watson might as well punched him in the chest. It certainly felt like his sternum just collapsed on his lungs. Not because she just admitted to murdering her rapist, but because the amount of  _regret_  that was in her voice. She regretted killing him. She regretted killing the man who threatened to kill  _her_ , who scarred  _her_  and who raped  _her_.

"He... he didn't recognize me," Watson said. "But I recognized the smell of the cigar on his clothes. I tried to rationalize it. Many men smoke cigars, it doesn't mean he was the one who... but he spoke. And I knew without a doubt, it was him. So I killed him."

Sherlock sucked in a breath as the clues clicked in his head. "The man who died on your table."

"That was him."

"Watson-"

"He had a wife. Kids. I didn't even think twice. It was so fucking easy too. Just a nick of his artery and he was gone. A husband. A dad."

Sherlock wanted to argue. To tell her she shouldn't blame herself, anyone else in her shoes would have done the same thing, that it didn't matter if the man was married, he had no right to do what what he did.

All of those arguments died on his lips. He knew nothing he could say, nothing he could do will change what Watson felt. So Sherlock stayed quiet, shaking while anger and hopelessness ran rampant inside of him, poisoning his organs.

Watson sighed heavily, her shoulders drooping like she released a weight off of them. She briefly swiped at her eyes and said, "I'm hungry. I want a Five Guys burger."

She got up. Reached for her coat. Without turning around, she said to him, "I don't ever want to find out you put a camera in my room again, Sherlock. If I feel my physical safety is threatened while living here, I will terminate our contract without hesitation."

"Of course," said Sherlock. "Of course."


End file.
